Hurricane
by Devilzzz
Summary: A hurricane hovers on the grounds of Hogwarts, and Ginny and Draco take futige in the Room of Requirement...GD.
1. The Infamous Room of Requirement

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Hurricane

Ginny Weasley slammed the portrait to the common room as hard as she could, her hair flying behind her in a mass of auburn. "Thanks a lot!" complained the Fat Lady warily, who had just been waken from a deep sleep at the side of her picture. Without bothering to apologize, Ginny began to walk away hurriedly, a book in her hand, shivering as she pulled her arms around herself to refrain from the cold. Even hovering around the castles was the detailed sample of the weather outside, stormy and dewy, thousands of raindrops rippling across the sky and splattering on the ground with the fast pace of the embers in a fireplace seen from the frosted windows.

She had wanted a quiet place to read. This was not possible, however. The common room was filled with a massive portion of people that were gossiping, doing late night homework, or hanging around and making various noises every so often. As an alternate, she had gone up to her dorm, which had been a more worse idea. Instead of the quiet, peaceful haven she had been anticipating, there were a roomful of girls sitting on their beds, laughing to one another.

But she had a very keen idea on where to go. She had entered it only last year, where the D.A.D.A. lessons had taken place. The Room Of Requirement, they called it, but she liked to think of it as a more magical concept, something that could appear when she needed it. As she passed the paintings of Andorra the Great and Desore, 1455 Transfiguration Teacher, she reached the corridors that were between the woeful, shabby looking wall.

A place to read, she thought timidly to herself, her eyelids moving slightly through her closed eyes as she concentrated. A place with a fireplace, a window to watch the rain go by, she told herself wistfully, feeling the drowsy sensation cause a smile to wrinkle through her lips. A place to comfort myself, to find something new, to read, just to be at peace.

As she opened her eyes, it still ran a chill through the nape of her neck as the door appeared. Tentatively, she turned the doorknob and walked inside, examining it, her features growing awestruck. It was a dark, small dim room, almost like a study, a burgundy-colored table with a comfy red armchair at the side, a fireplace plopped at the end, it's fire going, flames like orange-flamed strings dancing in the air, providing the only light. But what she found to be most beautiful was the window that was sparkling visibly above the table, where rain seemed to be audible through it's slightly open peak, wind blowing across it, leaves sputtering so you could barely hear them. Only if you tried.

Sighing, she walked slowly to the armchair and settled into it, the book tucked into her hands as the words began to drown into her mind in a melodic rhythm along with the rain.

Draco Malfoy was furious with himself. He couldn't study, eat, nor sleep. It seemed the weekends made him distraught, unable to find anything to do. Walking around the corridors, trying to seem the least suspicious, he began to wander, his mind pondering away. He wondered if his mother was alright now that he had returned to school, he wondered if the second week would pass by as quickly as the first, and he wondered what it would like to have his life calm again, before the Death Eaters, before Saint Potter, that bastard, and before his father went to Azkaban. It would be routinely, without every Gryffindor or every Hufflepuff trying to push him purposely because of his now dreaded surname. Because it was now known that his father was a Death Eater. And nobody except the Slytherins seemed particularly joyful at this thought. They were trying to get him out of the school - but as much as he wanted to, he couldn't. It just wasn't possible.

Father will come for me, he reassured himself as he leaned against a door, pausing his walking feet. Father will come for me soon, and he will send me to a real school.

With that, he tried to make a turn but found that a wall was blocking where he had entered. Grumbling something, he stared fixedly at the wall, as if wishing for it to tell him what to do. Surprisingly, as he looked away and thought, damn it, I need to get out of here, he turned back and saw the wall had now the faint outline of a door. Cautiously, his heart thumping, fear rising in his chest, he turned the doorknob and walked in.

The world immediately began to split into a million different flashes of colors.


	2. Thunderstorm

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Hurricane

Draco couldn't see anything by the blinding light that cascaded his face. Pulling an arm protectively over his eyes, he kept them tightly shut, his heart racing against his chest, with both fear and apprehension. What was happening, and how could he stop it? His eyes stinging, he hesitantly removed his arm and stared. It seemed as if he had entered some sort of parallel universe of some sort - light was glowing, but not as much as before, the door had slammed shut at his back, concealing any escape, and he was in a small, cozy-looking circular room that had a fireplace, a table, a chair, a rain-splattered window above it, and consisted of a reading Weasley. It was the smallest Weasley, the only girl, whose hair was behind her ears neatly in a mass of red wavy hair that looked brushed and were similar to waterfalls. Her brown eyes skimmed each paragraph with an intensity hovering above of her, as her slender hand reached out to the window aimlessly, as if trying to reach the rain. He wasn't even sure she was aware of doing this, nor was he sure that she even noticed his presence.

"Weasley," he barked. "What is this place?" he demanded after his surprised composure. However, his annoyance grew as she beadily ignored him, as if he was a gust of air to be brushed against. Stepping toward her cautiously, he drew closer until he found himself in front of her. She did not raise her hand, nor did she make any movement to move her lips. Her eyes still peered over the pages.

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Damn it, I wish something would happen.

He reached out and tried to grab the book, but found that he couldn't and was hit by the most strangest thought that ran a chill throughout his spine and trickled into his legs within it's numbing surface.

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She could not see him.

The rain rippled like a thousand tears against the flat window. She observed it with keen interest every so often when she felt her eardrums and eyes tire from her book. But there was a sudden emotion rising in her skin and she didn't particularly care for it. It was the emotion she felt in her chest, tangled into it when she felt as if she would regret something about to happen. She also felt that prickling fear that someone was watching her, whenever something out of her grasp made a movement fully to her knowledge in sight.

__

I wish there was a world where I could be the air, vacant, and myself. It was an ambitious feeling to sink into. 

She gave a soft sigh and told herself it would be safe just to sleep for an hour or so, then wake up in the peaceful, serene setting and listen to the thundering rain. It was when drowsiness was begin to fill her when a sudden cracking sound, along with the thunder made it's plunging noise into her eardrums, and she felt as if they were breaking as several echoes began to occupy her mind. 

Draco stood, looking around at his surroundings for the last half-hour with distaste. He was in disbelief, and he was now feeling sick, his throat caught in something he could not distinguish. There was something strange and untrusting about this place, and he wanted to leave. He had tried many times, but the doorknob wouldn't move a bit. He felt as if his hands were transparent, unfeeling, and invisible, both mentally and physically. His eyes were turned to the ceiling when he heard the scream. It was an earsplitting, bloodcurdling screech that awakened his senses as he looked to his right.

Ginny was hanging limply across her armchair, remains of the now broken window caught in her hair, her eyes closed, blood seeping from the gash on her forehead as the storm surrendered it's anger unleashing onto the once-cozy room. 

The rushing wind wavered around the room and miraculously set out the ember fires that were dancing in the fireplace.

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	3. Haven Angels

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Hurricane

Draco felt the warmth of her in his arms, felt the light weight upon his hands. His breath could be shown in the translucent air, it came out as a gust of white puffs. He could not see, he could not hear. All he knew was that felt adequate once more, and he could feel her heartbeat. He could feel it in his eardrums, and he didn't know why. He didn't know why her blood was growing through his veins, and he didn't know why he felt as if he was about to faint any second. There was a paranormal heartbeat that was thumping against his chest as he fell, with her still in his arms, his eyes closed. Flashes of gnawing pain reached him and he kneeled over, trying to get the vomit building, caught in his throat.

And then it came. The vomit splattered on the floor - but it wasn't the usual, messy, mass of colors he was used to see. It was pure white, vanishing into the floor tiles within seconds. He blinked several times before his vision became intact and he began to observe his surroundings. The room with the window was gone. Instead, the roll of thunder was still hovering above them. The area surround them was white, and could be no other color. He looked down.

His clothes were _white._

His skin was _white._

He looked at the girl that was sitting upright. He was awestruck by the beauty she suddenly seemed to possess. Her skin was white as a blossoming flower, her lips the only illuminated feature in her face. They were red, like blood dripping over her mouth. Her clothes were changed. Her slender, frail body was wrapped in several white cloths that matched the color of her pure white skin. White skin was grotesque-looking, pale, but when she turned her head, their bodies both colored slightly, still pale, but instead of grotesque, it was immensely beautiful.

She could feel his hands, but she could not feel surfaces. They were in a place of their own, never filled with darkness.

They didn't have to breathe, they didn't have to suffer, they didn't have to feel. 

They were invisible to the naked eye.

And they could only see themselves.


End file.
